


Distractions

by Thalius



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Mandothon2020, Prompt Fill, Scars, Soft Domme Omera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23467288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thalius/pseuds/Thalius
Summary: Din's an easy man to distract.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Omera
Comments: 11
Kudos: 139
Collections: The Mandalorian Ficathon — April 2020





	Distractions

**Author's Note:**

> This is a nsfw prompt fill for Day 1 ("Battle Scars") of the #Mandothon2020 event on tumblr, which you can find [here](https://mandothon.tumblr.com/). This fic has a very, very loose connection to [A Real Backwater Skug Hole](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21611599/chapters/51533602), but it's definitely not required reading.

The lantern light from the wagon wasn’t much to go by. It flickered from the attention of moths, their wings throwing webbed shadows over the bed. He had to catalogue her body carefully, committing to memory the exact spot to press his mouth before he moved. The moment he ducked his head down, her skin would be cast in darkness, and so he marked each spot with the pad of his thumb first.

“You’ll laugh,” Omera said beneath him as he nudged his lips against the swell of her left hip, where a small pock of pale scar tissue was located. He looked up to find her watching him, sitting up on an elbow and smiling.

“Why’s that?”

“It’s from—” Her mouth twisted as she paused to hold down an embarrassed bubble of laughter. “From a sewing needle.”

He frowned. “Why is that funny?”

“Because I stabbed myself with it,” she replied, her hand coming down to touch the spot. He kissed her knuckles when they got within range, unable to help himself. “Doing too many things at once.”

“That’s still a battle wound,” he said, and she gave an answering snort.

“Oh, please.” Omera sat up, pushing his shoulders back so that he was leaning against the rail of the wagon. Her eyes darted across his skin, a novelty that still made his whole body tremor, before her fingers went to a stitch on his shoulder. “I was deliriously tired. It was during the winter when Winta was teething.”

He was about to make a comment saying how lucky he was that the kid seemed to already have all of his teeth when Omera pressed her mouth to his shoulder, using his bicep as a support grip. Her long hair brushed across his chest, making him shudder, and he resisted the overwhelming urge to pull her into his lap. She’d insisted on going slow tonight, and he was happy to indulge that request—even if it made him incoherent with need.

“This one?” She murmured, her breath whispering across his skin, and he closed his eyes with a shiver.

“Um,” he hummed, his throat working. “A job. Few years back.”

She laughed, her nose skimming across his collarbone and up to his neck. “That doesn’t narrow it down much,” she murmured, kissing the underside of his jaw.

It didn’t, and he wouldn’t be able to provide any further details until she stopped touching him. And since that was the last thing he wanted to encourage, he only tipped his head back further as she moved to kiss along his throat. Her laughter rumbled beneath her ribs, mostly silent as she repositioned herself on the wagon.

“Tell me more,” she whispered again, a command he couldn’t ignore. His hand slid up her back, burying itself in her hair.

“I can’t,” he confessed, feeling out of breath, and when she shifted her weight to straddle one of his thighs, he let out a strangled groan.

She pulled back from his neck to grin at him, and he opened his eyes to find hers, nearly black in the dim light.

“Is it a secret?” she asked, tapping his nose with a finger.

“No, I mean—I can’t,” he repeated, his face heating. “When you’re—when you do that. I can’t focus.”

She gave a full-throated laugh at that, and the sound caught in the dense pine canopy of the trees above them. He wondered briefly if the noise would attract forest cats, and a part of him was horrified by how little he cared.

“You’re very easy to distract,” she observed, shifting closer to him. Her knee brushed between his legs and he realised that she was very much doing it on purpose. 

He had nothing intelligent to reply with, so he made a concerted effort to give another sweep of her skin, looking for a place he hadn’t yet kissed. 

“My turn now,” he said hoarsely, spying a splotched scar by her collarbone. His hand rose up to touch it before she grabbed his fingers, pulling his attention back to her face.

“You haven’t told me about this one yet,” she informed him, tapping the spot on his shoulder. He looked down to where her finger was pointing.

“Knife,” he replied, looking back to her collarbone. “Slipped under my pauldron during a fight.”

“With….?”

“A target.”

She groaned and let her head fall onto his shoulder. “You are a terrible story-teller.”

“After a while it’s all just a blur,” he said, trying not to sound too defensive, but to his delight she laughed again. He catalogued carefully what she found amusing—there was no discernible pattern to it yet, but he figured he’d find one eventually.

“You live a very interesting life, Sir Mandalorian,” she said, lifting her head up to whisper into his ear. That was also very distracting.

He swallowed again. “I try not to if I can help it,” he told her, then extricated his hand from her’s to touch her collarbone. “What’s this one?”

“A burn,” she said plainly, a hand sliding down his chest, following the line of his abdomen before finding his hip. Her fingers continued to trail downward, teasing his inner thigh, and it was his turn to rest his forehead on her shoulder. 

“A burn,” he repeated roughly, watching her hand, watching his erection strain against his stomach, and wondered how he’d survive another night with her.

“From a spark,” she clarified, the amused tone in her voice at odds with the subject matter entirely. “Caught on my apron. It was from when I used to scrap—nasty business.”

He pulled his head up to look at it again, but she intercepted him instead, her mouth pressing hard against his, and she kissed him so deeply he thought he’d see stars. 

It surprised him enough that all he could do for several moments was catch up with her, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her from putting any distance between them. In fact, he was so distracted that he didn’t realise she’d stopped circling her fingers around his thigh until she grabbed a hold of him, forcing all the air out of his lungs in a strained groan that made her laugh against his mouth.

When Omera pulled back he gasped, leaning heavily against the wagon railing. She was grinning wickedly, her hand running slowly along the length of him. 

“My turn,” she said, her casual tone not hindered by its breathless delivery. Her eyes swept along his chest for a moment before catching on another scar, and her free hand unwound itself from his shoulders to press against it. “This one,” she said, looking back up at him through her lashes. “Tell me about it.”

“I d—” He swallowed and closed his eyes, focusing on rolling his hips up into her hand. “I don’t, I—”

The warmth of her palm, the softness of her skin, the certainty of her movements—all too much at once, and he gasped again when it vanished a moment later, forcing his eyes open to look at her in stark betrayal.

Her smile grew. “Keep talking,” she said in a low tone, no less forceful for its lack of volume. “I like listening to your voice.”

He let out an exasperated huff of breath and looked down to the spot she’d indicated on his right pectoral. It was a thick jagged line that swept nearly down to his ribs, and still faintly pink from recency.

He closed his eyes again to collect his thoughts—what little were left. His cock twitched insistently, angrily, as if he needed another reminder. “Another job,” he began, his voice coarse with effort. “In the Outer R—”

Sure enough, her hand fell back down, wrapping around him, and swept up the length of his erection. It strung every muscle in his body tight, and immediately he arched up into her touch. 

He felt her lean forward again, her mouth going to his earlobe. “Keep talking,” she ordered in a whisper. Her hand stilled, though it didn’t leave completely this time. He held back a whimper, not wanting to give her the satisfaction, and refocused himself.

“In the Outer Rim,” he repeated, and sighed a breath of sweet relief when her hand continued. “Wealthy contractor gave me a direct commission to track down his wife. She’d been….” He paused again, reaching up to grab her arm, to keep himself anchored in place. “She’d been missing for a week or so.”

“What happened?” she asked, her mouth still at his ear. The movement of her hand was slow and sure, and he wanted desperately to ask her to go faster, to grip harder, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t abide any interruptions to the story.

…what story had he been telling her? 

Right. He breathed deeply, murmuring against the solace of her neck. “Found her in a transit depot,” he continued with a groan. “Omera, you feel so good—”

She’d been rolling her hips against his leg, echoing the movement of her hand. Her position over him didn’t give him much room to move, but he did what little he could, arching up in anticipation each time her palm swept over the head of his cock. 

It seemed then that she was satisfied with what he’d told her—mercifully, her hand continued in earnest despite the fact that he’d fallen silent, her face pressing into his hair as she held him. He gave himself over to her immediately, gasping into her skin, murmuring out his gratitude in broken whispers that may have been in Mando’a or Basic. His grip on her arm turned hard as her own grip on him tightened. 

“Omera—”

Her other hand circled the back of his head, holding him braced against her body as if worried he’d move away. She was still rolling into his leg, slicking his skin with her own need, and he found a free hand to slide downwards, along the length of her spine before tracing inward. 

Her hand unwound itself from his head and grabbed his wrist, stilling his hand. “Not yet,” she whispered, her voice husky. “It’s still my turn.”

He wanted to tell her that she wouldn’t have to wait long if that was the case, but he didn’t have the faculties to produce full sentences at the moment. Instead he groaned into her neck and rutted against her, bucking erratically as the hot ache in his belly grew almost unbearable. Her hand didn’t let up, strong and sure, and only after a half-dozen more frantic thrusts of his hips did he finally find his release.

He crushed her against him, surrendering to the shudder that wracked his entire body as he came. She worked him through the waves of hot, sweet relief, gripping him tightly and unrelenting. He made a mess across her skin, across his own, until he had to grab for her hand to halt her fingers. 

Another shudder wracked him as they gasped into each other. He was so out of breath it was all he could do to draw in air for several moments, recentering himself in the universe. After being given a minute to recover, Omera pulled them both down to lay in the wagon bed. She was breathing heavily beside him, letting her knee lean against one of the support rails. Despite the cool night air, both of them were covered in a layer of sweat from the exertion, and the light breeze washing through the forest made him shiver.

Din stared up at the trees, watching the stars twinkle through their canopy as the wind jostled their branches. Sorgan’s twin moons were bright enough to shine through the dense pine needles, washing them both in a bone-white light that sapped the colour from the earth.

Omera nudged his arm with an elbow, letting out a strained, breathless laugh. “How’d it,” she began, then paused to swallow. “How’d your story end?”

He frowned, trying again to recall their conversation. “Oh,” he hummed after a moment, dazed. “She was—she was cheating on him, ran away with someone else. She offered to pay me double to tell him she was dead when I found her.”

Omera’s head lolled in his direction, a soft smile on her face that he saw out of his periphery. “Did you take it?”

“Bad for business to go back on a commission,” he replied, then took a steadying breath. His heart was still hammering wildly in his chest, and he could feel himself sinking deeply against the bed of the wagon as every muscle in his body relaxed. He knew their night was still far from over, and even that thought sent a thrill of anticipation through him. He just needed a few more minutes to recuperate.

“Not as long as no one finds out about it,” Omera replied, bringing him out of his thoughts.

He smiled faintly, nodding. “That’s true.”

“So?” she asked, sitting up on an arm to look down at him. Her hair brushed his shoulder, making him shiver again. “Did you?”

He shrugged, grinning. “Who’s to say?”

“Oh, pfft. Fine.” She leaned down and kissed him once, softly. He sat up to meet her, but she put a hand to his chest. “It’s your turn, by the way,” she whispered, smiling into his mouth. 


End file.
